Without warning, a black-coated, red-maned thestralcorn leapt into an open spotlight, waving jazz-hooves and bursting into song:
“That phoenix dust, it’s a helluva drug!
Perks pinions up, and puts a smile on yer mug!
We may be stuck in this hole that we’ve dug,
But phoenix dust is still a helluva drug!”
There was a sound like unto a record scratching as Dark Lord Shadow Ashes turned his head and glared down from atop the decorative custom-molded pile of plastic but convincingly well-painted pony skulls. A hush rippled through the assembled host of four hundred and eighteen other steel-jawed thestralcorns, as the singer—even more hulking and dark-coated than the others—withered under the gaze of all of them.
Silence reigned as the long moment stretched into a thing like unto infinity and the brooding fire of Dark Lord Shadow Ashes’ unspoken rage burned in his eyes. But then an echo of dripping water issued from somewhere deep inside the dark yet tastefully decorated cavern, causing Dark Lord Shadow Ashes to turn his gaze toward a slightly less hulking and marginally more bookish thestralcorn standing close to the pile of skulls.
“Wormdeath, I thought you said you were having that leak taken care of.”
“A thousand apologies, my callous Lord,” Wormdeath said, bowing low enough to let his flowing red mane brush the faux-stone tiled floor. “The swine of a plumber requested payment up front, and the Great and Terrible Debit Card of Considerable Endowment… proved to be overdrawn.”
If Dark Lord Shadow Ashes’ eyes had burned with rage a moment hence, their smoldering soon built to levels that threatened to set off the overhead smoke alarm. He drew himself up to his full and considerable height, which was bolstered as always by his black-laquered, impractically tall platform horseshoes, as well his high and effluent red mohawk. “My brothers,” his voice boomed, “it is clear that our warhost has fallen on hard times these thousand years since the reign of our Almighty And Terrible But Actually Pretty Hot Mistress Nightmare Moon.”
“May the stars aid us in her plot,” the ranks of stallions chorused.
“But brother Bloodgore’s insolent reminders of our… shall we say limited remaining stock of phoenix dust will not do,” the Dark Lord said, pointing an accusing hoof toward the thestralcorn who still stood isolated from his brothers.
Bloodgore’s eyes were wide with unbecoming panic, and he pranced in place nervously. “No, Dark Lord, I can’t take it anymore! The Mistress asked us to wait, and we waited! For a thousand years we’ve lurked in our cave, maintaining our eternal vigor by smoking the dust of phoenixes—”
“It’s ‘phoenices,’” Wormdeath interrupted.
“Whatever! Dark Lord, you haven’t done anything but brood since they stopped breeding, and it was only a matter of time before we ran out! The Mistress ordered us to be ready when she calls. I know she also ordered us to stay hidden, but if we don’t come up with more phoenix dust, she’s gonna be surprised when she calls us and we’re all dead!”
The Dark Lord raised an eyebrow. “Brother Wormdeath, where can we procure new phoenixes—”
“It’s ‘phoenices,’ my Lord.”
“Sure, sure, phoenices.” Dark Lord Shadow Ashes paused, mulling this over. “Are you sure? It kind of sounds like ‘penis-eese’ when you say it that way.”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the warhost.
Wormdeath huffed and puffed. “My Lord! Such indecorous speech!”
“It is true,” the Dark Lord said. “Soon even our decor will suffer from the lack of phoenix dust. Or from the lack of brothers fit to soar on wings of darkness up to dust the nooks and crannies. Something like that. Anyway!” He pointed a hoof toward Bloodgore. “Though our brother’s great impertinence has surely earned him The Lousy And Terrible Death Of Being In The Front Rank During Our Triumphant Opening Charge, I cannot deny his point: we must see to our own continuance, lest we fail to serve our Mistress’ plot.”
“Her glorious plot!” somepony shouted.
“But where can we come up with either more… of those birds,” the Dark Lord said, hedging his bets. “Or just a stash of phoenix dust laying around?” He paused, and not only for effect. “Wait a minute. Wormdeath? Didn’t we used to have one of those a few centuries back?”
Wormdeath scratched at his chin. “You know what, Dark Lord, I think we did.”
“Where’d we put that again?”
Wormdeath’s countenance fell. “Alas, Dark Lord; recall that we entrusted it to the Cowardly And Terrible In The Sense Of Actually Being Terrible brother Axe Holder, who claimed he had discovered some kind of perfect hiding place for it. But then he deserted us, leaving us bereft of phoenices!”
The Dark Lord scowled down at his throne. “That… still doesn’t sound right to me, Wormdeath.”
Bloodgore leapt forward. “My Lord, ‘tis possible that the foul traitor left a forwarding address!”
“Indeed?” Dark Lord Shadow Ashes raised an eyebrow. “Then gird thy loins, my brothers; for as soon as we locate that address, we shall fly forth upon our Mistress’ glorious night and lay waste upon Axe Holder’s legacy!”
The gathering all cheered, except for Wormdeath, who raised a hoof in silence.
As the noise died down, the Dark Lord sighed. “Yes, brother?”
Wormdeath paused. “The faucet may be drippy, but the rest of the bathroom is working fine, Dark Lord. We needn’t actually lay waste upon them.”
The Dark Lord pressed a hoof to his face. “Brother Wormdeath will join brother Bloodgore in the front ranks! Now muster yourselves, brothers! For tonight we dine in hell! Or at least not at a five-star establishment!”
Most days, Limestone Pie started her morning by sitting alone on her farmhouse home’s front porch, nursing a cup of coffee as she watched the first traces of dawn shoot through the nighttime darkness. But as she tromped across her living room toward the front door, the echoes of her hooves on the wooden floor seemed… off, somehow. She paused and listened, and a faint but extant sound slowly made itself apparent:
Singing.
“When you’re a bat,
You’re at home with your clan
From your first red-and-black
Aerosol hair dye can!”
She moved to the living room’s bay window and pulled the curtains aside. Nothing but the twilight of pre-dawn seemed apparent. But the song continued:
“Here come the bats
Like, we’re bats out of hell;
We’re all monochrome, badass,
And totally swelled—”
There was a commotion, followed by a single loud voice cutting through: “I’m telling you, it’s ‘swole,’ not ‘swelled!’ That doesn’t even make sense!”
The sounds of an argument continued. Limestone set her mug down, crossed to the front door, opened it, and stepped out into the cool early morning. The rock farm was still too dark for her to see much, but she could hear a loud kerfuffle coming from the direction of Holder’s Boulder, so she set off across the short distance from her front door to the great rock.
Upon arriving near Holder’s Boulder, she went slack-jawed at the sight of scores and scores of horned and bat-winged shapes alternately tripping over and flying into each other, seemingly in chaos. Some tried to grip and move Holder’s Boulder, while others scratched at its surface with their hooves, and still others randomly paused and tried to burst into parts of a song before being cuffed by their fellows.
Eventually one of the ponies flew higher than the others and bellowed for silence. Limestone took the group’s compliance as her cue to insert herself into the proceedings: “Would any of you numbskulls care to tell me what you’re doing with Holder’s Boulder?!”
The pony flying above chuckled. “Ah, a lovely and exotic mare of the surface world. Come, my angel; join the Dark Lord Shadow Ashes in the embrace of night eternal.” And he too burst into song:
“Come up and fly with me
Check my ripped pecs;
The languor of my hot
And smoking s—”
He cut off because Limestone threw a rock at him. It made a “thunk” sound as it bounced off his head, and then he fell unceremoniously to the ground.
The other ponies all gasped simultaneously. All but one of them, who called out: “Oh no she didn’t!”
“Oh yes I did,” she countered. “Now listen up, every last one of you pointy red-and-black weirdos! This is the Pie family rock farm, and that’s Holder’s Boulder, and rule number one at the Pie family rock farm is to stay off Holder’s Boulder!”
“But brother Axe Holder was one of us!” a particularly burly thestralcorn shouted.
“And that’s our last stash of dust from the phoenixes!” shouted another one.
“Phoenices!”
“Shut it, Wormdeath!”
Limestone scrunched up her muzzle. “Wait… so there’s a stash of phoenix dust in there?”
“No!” they chorused. “The whole thing is a cleverly disguised concentration of it!”
She shook her head. “I wonder if that’s why Granny Pie always said to keep ponies off of it. I learned about that stuff in filly school. That stuff’s supposed to make you crazy. Yeah you live forever, but it turns your coat all kinds of funky colors, and it makes you randomly start singing to yourself, and…”
Limestone trailed off. “Oh. Okay. That makes… a lot more sense now.”
The burly thestralcorn pushed himself forward through the throng of others. Despite the confidence gifted by her inner wellspring of aggression, Limestone found herself stepping backwards and gulping at the sight of his sheer angry mass as it pushed right into her face.
“I am Bloodgore the Undeterred, and I will not be deterred by the likes of you,” he hissed at her. “Our service to the Great And Hot But Mostly Regal Mistress Nightmare Moon depends on our success.”
Limestone frowned. “Wait. Nightmare Moon?”
“Yes,” he said, pressing closer.
She stepped back again. “Wait. Hold on. You guys know that she already came back a couple years ago, right? And she got turned back to Luna, and she isn’t evil now, and stuff.”
The thestralcorn blinked, then glared back at his fellows. “Wormdeath! Weren’t you supposed to be keeping track of the date for our Glorious And Terrible But Hopefully Not Mis-Timed Return?”
“Eh. Oh. Ha ha. My bad,” a thin voice called from somewhwere in the throng.
The group of thestralcorns slowly, nonchalantly began to murmur vague words of apology as they shuffled off down the road away from the farm, eventually taking flight into the barely-rising sun.
Limestone looked down at the unconscious thestralcorn who remained, and frowned as she debated what to do with him.
She didn’t burst into song, though. That would just be irritating.
It didn’t take Limestone long to decide who she could call for help. Really there was only one choice that made sense. Limestone hated admitting that she needed help, of course. But at least there was somepony out there who both had the connections to help, and who knew Limestone well enough not to judge her for causing a potential international incident.
She would soon learn that the choice was not without its costs, though.
For as Pinkie trotted toward the house, she paused for a moment and scraped a hoof across the surface of Holder’s Boulder, examining and then licking the residue she found there.
And without warning, she burst into song:
“That phoenix dust, it’s a helluva drug…”
